Dainty pulled a shriveled gray object from his pocket. "Here's a shark's fin to tie on your bow-sprit for good luck."
"I will not. God above."
"Those tight leather trousers make you look like a blackguard, Douglas," Gemma said.
He rubbed his jaw. "Dammit, this dressing up has taken so long I shall have to be shaved again."
"There isn't time." Gemma darted to the door, motioning everyone to follow. "Baldwin, Willie. You're getting dressed next, although talk about hopeless causes. Douglas, I still think you should wear that plaid and brooch."
Douglas sneaked back into his room five minutes later. He changed into a plaid of blue and grayish-green wool, dyed with heather and bramble. He refused to wear high heels. Then he slipped the shark's fin beneath his shirt. He figured he could use the luck.
Highland laird on the outside, pirate beneath.
The deception could not last much longer.
Douglas walked around the table, his hands locked behind his back. "What manner of dish hides on that platter?" he demanded.
Candlelight flickered across Baldwin's grinning face. "That's the peacock for the princess."
"Peacock." Douglas gazed at the covered centerpiece. "I was not aware we had peacocks in Dunmoral. If this is another one of my sister's half-brained—"
He broke off in alarm as a trumpet blared from the gallery above. The music of bagpipes and fiddles swelled to a deafening pitch. The flames of the pinewood chandelier trembled and swayed.
He plugged his ears. "God's bones. Who is making that infernal noise?"
"The village musicians," Baldwin shouted. "The princess must be comin'. The lads were to start playin' the moment she left her room. 'Tis to honor her."
"Deafen her is more likely," Douglas said as he strode across the hall. "A few minutes of that racket, and we'll all be raving mad."
Rowena had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he found her. A gray silk dress graced her willowy frame. Her glorious hair waved over her shoulders like a goddess of fertility, a dangerous reminder to Douglas that the woman wished to have babies in a hurry. His heart gave a traitorous thump at the thought while his barbaric male body tightened in arousal.
He felt a jolt of guilt-tinged pleasure as their eyes met. She looked at him with a hope and vulnerability that would be utterly destroyed when he was done deceiving her.
She believed herself so strong, this maiden princess who wanted to lead an army to protect her papa. She thought she would succeed where hardened warriors had failed. She thought she could play with a dragon and not singe her delicate fingers.
But Douglas only played to win. She was a mere apprentice at the wicked games he had mastered, invented. Yet his plans for her had changed. He no longer wished for her money or influence. To his horror he wished to win her heart.
"And where is your shepherdess, little lamb?" he asked in an amused undertone.
Rowena gave him a grin. "Praying in the chapel for my protection. She's had a premonition that my very life is in danger."
A cold infusion of fear seemed to settle in Douglas's bones. Hildegarde, he remembered, considered herself something of a seer. "Premonitions should never be ignored."
Rowena shrugged to dismiss such a notion as he took her hand. "I would have been dead at the tender age of three if predictions like Hildegarde's are to be believed."
He closed his fingers over hers, surprised at the power of his protective instincts. "We must guard you more carefully, perhaps."
Rowena slanted him a look at the sober note in his voice. "Do you think I am in danger?"
Douglas hesitated. A boyish smile broke across his deeply burnished face. " 'Tis hard to say. There are all manner of mysterious dishes arriving at our table. We may neither of us survive our supper."
Rowena peered around him. "Where is that unearthly noise coming from?"
"The minstrel's gallery." He let out a rueful sigh. "To honor you."
"Oh, dear. We'd best hurry to the table then before they bring down the walls."
He guided her down the corridor and into the hall where candlelight glinted on the silver dishes placed upon the damask-covered table. The music swelled to an ear-splitting crescendo at her entrance. The guests at the table rose, bowing and curtsying, along with his sister Gemma and Dr. MacVittie. Baldwin and Willie stood against the wall in white powdered periwigs and beribboned knee-breeches.
Rowena raised her voice to be heard above the music. "You've gone to far too much trouble, my lord. I shall have none of this 'above the salt' nonsense."
He cupped his ear. "Pardon me?"
"I will have to compliment the cook's efforts," she said in an even louder voice.
He looked blank. "What did you say?"
"The apple tarts look exquisite," she shouted in his face. "T-A-R-T-S."
Douglas drew away from her with a droll smile. The delighted compliments on her lips would probably turn into shrieks of outrage if he told her that this time last year the cook had been serving up an entirely different type of tart.
Rowena bit her lip. "Bring the cook to me, my lord. I'll tell her myself."
"I'm sorry." Douglas spread out his palms. "I can't hear you."
"I WANT TO SEE THE COOK!" Rowena roared across the room.
The music stopped abruptly. A targe dropped from the wall and thudded to the floor. Baldwin pulled off his periwig and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
Rowena blushed.
Douglas motioned to the table. "Why don't you sample a tart if they tempt you?"
"She can't have a tart yet." Gemma hurried between them, dropping another curtsy. "The oysters are coming."
"Oysters?" Douglas said, frowning.
"The tarts weren't supposed to be served until after the main courses," Gemma explained. "Shandy got confused and brought the wrong dishes out. Frances nearly murdered him." She looked at Rowena. "I hope you'll forgive this outrageous oversight."
"It doesn't matter," Rowena said graciously. "I could eat apple tarts all day."
Douglas led her to the dais. Servants, who a year ago had been chasing a Spanish squadron to the West Indies, paraded in from behind the screens bearing the banquet dishes. Rowena sat down, looking pleased at their efforts.
A roasted lamb wearing a crown of pearls was placed before her. Then came marchpane, and a gilded salmon pie.
Dainty appeared at the dais with a wobbly blancmange shaped like a fairy-tale palace. The turrets collapsed before he reached the table, but that didn't stop him. By the time Hildegarde arrived at her seat, the drawbridge had collapsed in a quivering blob.
Baldwin came forward to pour the wine. Everyone at the table ceased breathing as the man filled Rowena's goblet with a delicate claret.
"I didna spill a drop," he announced when he finished, and the table released its collective breath.
"Very good, Baldwin," Douglas said in an undertone. "Now put your wig on the other way around."
Hildegarde and Dr. MacVittie began to discuss the treatment of bunions and the art of bloodletting. Mrs. MacVittie orchestrated the serving of dishes with covert hand signals.
"The oysters are coming," Dainty announced from the end of the hall. "Make way for the OYSTERS."
The highly touted oysters arrived at the table, artfully arranged on the half-shell. Douglas's jaw tightened as Willie moved from guest to guest to offer the platter of the most peculiar-looking mollusks he had ever seen.
Hildegarde held one of the white ridged shells between her fingers. "I have never seen such a manner of oyster before."
"They're Highland oysters," Gemma said quickly, avoiding her brother's eyes.
"I have a pearl in my Highland oyster!" Hildegarde exclaimed.
Rowena arched her brow. "I have a pearl ring in mine."
Douglas stared down at his plate in distaste. "Gemma," he whispered between his teeth. "What is this?"
"They're mussels," she whispered back. "Dainty got them fresh from the cove this morning, and I pain
ted them white."
He tried to smile. It came out as a grimace. "Mussels masquerading as oysters. Why did you not use oysters in the first place?"
"Well, Douglas, at first we couldn't find any oysters. Then Dainty found them, but by that time Frances remembered something about eating oysters in a month that has an 'R' in it." Gemma shook her head. "The trouble was, no one in Dunmoral could remember whether 'twas safe to eat oysters in such a month, or whether 'twas deadly."
Douglas sighed. "Dear Lord."
"Frances has been feeding mussels to the men all week to make sure they weren't the deadly sort. No one's died." She smiled. "Yet."
Douglas clamped his hand down on Rowena's wrist as she raised her fork to her mouth. "Don't."
She gave him a beguiling smile. "Oysters are an aphrodisiac, my lord. Haven't you heard?"
"An aphrodisiac? At the Virgin Earl's table?" He snapped his fingers over his shoulder. "Baldwin, take these offensive oysters away."
Rowena reached defiantly for her plate.
Douglas forced her hand down onto the table.
"What are you doing, my lord?" she asked haughtily. "I have not taken a vow of chastity."
Chastity. Aphrodisiacs. Douglas felt his blood begin to boil, remembering how long it had been since he'd touched a woman, and how badly he wanted to bed the woman at his side. He might as well have been a genuine virgin for the ridiculous length of time since his last sexual encounter. The scent of her befogged his brain, floral and female. Her easy smile bewitched him, and though he might hope to hold her captive, 'twas he who had been caught.
He glanced at his sister. He desperately needed a distraction. "Is it time to uncover the centerpiece?"
Gemma nodded, and Willie came forward to whisk the cover off the platter. Silence descended. Douglas swallowed a groan. Rowena grabbed her goblet to hide a sudden fit of giggles.
A scrawny moor grouse sat in the center of table, the dyed peacock feathers from Mrs. MacVittie's best court fan protruding from its behind.
Hildegarde half-rose from her chair, her brows gathered in a puzzled frown. "Goodness," she said. "What is that thing?"
" 'Tis a Highland peacock," Baldwin said proudly. "Willie and me bagged the wee bugger all by ourselves. 'Tis so fresh you can still hear it breathin' if ye listen close enough." He clapped Rowena on the back. "Eat up hearty, princess, while 'tis good and hot."
Aidan appeared suddenly in the gallery, staring down at the festivities like an avenging angel. Douglas needed only the man's slight nod to know that something was seriously amiss.
He excused himself while Rowena was nibbling her third tart, Dainty followed Douglas up the stairs. The three men proceeded down the long portrait-lined gallery in silence until they rounded a torchlit corner.
"What is it?" Douglas demanded.
Aidan lifted an odd-shaped bundle in his left hand.
"Dear Jesus," Dainty exclaimed. "Where did that come from?"
Aidan unwrapped a wolf's head from a bloodstained chemise. Rowena's chemise, Douglas thought, his throat closing in fear. No other woman in the castle wore a garment of such finely wrought lace.
He gazed at the animal's face, fangs frozen in a snarl.
"This was nailed to the inside of her door," Aidan said quietly.
Douglas felt a wave of panic engulf his entire body. "When?"
"During the banquet," Aidan said.
"Someone in the castle then." Dainty stared down the length of the mural passage. "They could be hiding anywhere. Why the hell are we standing about like a trio of trembling virgins?"
Aidan shook his head. "Gunther swears the guards did not see a soul enter or leave the castle. I searched her room. No one was there."
"I want whoever did this caught." Douglas swung around, then stopped, searching the shadows of Aidan's face. "How did you happen to be inside her room?"
Aidan looked surprised. "You were all occupied with the banquet. I took it on myself to patrol the halls. I noticed her door was ajar."
"A damn good thing you did," Dainty said gruffly. "The woman would have had the shock of her life seeing that on her door, or worse, coming upon the intruders."
"A damn good thing indeed." Douglas gazed at the wolf's head. "Get rid of that thing, and meet me at the stable. Dainty, stay here with Rowena."
"What will I tell her when she asks where you've run off to?" the giant asked.
Douglas and Aidan were already halfway down the passage. The flares in the wall rings died at their rushed exit, booted feet ringing against stone. Smoke lingered in their wake, and Douglas's troubled voice drifted from the depths of the stairwell.
"Tell her—tell her a rabid wolf was spotted near the castle. Tell her we have gone to hunt it down before it hurts anyone."
"I am not afraid of wolves," Rowena whispered hours later from the window. "But I am afraid I have come all this way for naught. I am afraid that I've fallen in love with an illusion."
The clatter of hooves over the drawbridge broke the silence of the night. Then came the grinding grooves of the portcullis chains. Minutes later she saw Douglas striding from the stables, his broad-shouldered figure dark and dominant, drawing the eye straight to him. Aidan followed at his heels. Dainty ran out of the keep to question them. His left and right arm, his closest friends, striking warriors in their own right.
Her breath caught at the raw energy that emanated from Douglas, unaware he was being watched. He moved with elemental power and ruthless grace. She suspected, by the impatient rhythm of his strides, that he had failed to accomplish whatever goal had dragged him from the banquet.
Hildegarde's urgent voice broke into her sleep. "Highness, we must leave here at once."
Rowena sat up with a start, her heart pounding at the abrupt awakening. The thick ropes of her braided hair fell across her lap. She stared grumpily at the familiar figure who hovered over her bed. "What has happened?"
"I have an awful feeling in my heart about Frederic."
"Frederic? It has not yet been a fortnight," Rowena said. "Could this not wait until morning to be discussed?"
"I had a dream, a nightmare."
Rowena released a long-suffering sigh into the darkness.
"You were chained to a cross." Hildegarde's chin trembled. " 'Twas so real I could see the raindrops on your face and the wind blowing your hair."
"Hildegarde," she said gently, hugging the woman's shoulders." 'Twas but a dream. Frederic is finding warriors and will soon return. I am safe in my bed."
"There was a man at your feet, Highness," the woman continued, her gaze focused inward in remembered horror. "He carried a knife between his teeth."
"A supper knife?" Rowena said, teasing to break the tension.
" 'Twas the man called Aidan," Hildegarde said in a hoarse whisper. "The man with secrets in his eyes. The one who looks like my poor Stephan."
"Aidan is the earl's good friend," Rowena said firmly. "He is unfailingly polite to me, and there is a nobihty about him that I admire. Besides, he is not the only one in this castle to keep secrets. Now go back to your room, woman. I was in the midst of a pleasant dream myself."
Hildegarde obeyed with reluctance. "The door was not bolted—"
"Out, Hildegarde. His lordship's guards patrol the castle grounds on the hour."
"There are dark stains beneath your door—"
"Bloodstains again?" Rowena scoffed. "Go to bed, Hildegarde, before you bring everyone to my room with your hysterics. Every princess needs her sleep."
Neacail remained hidden behind the stones that formed the forgotten passageway into the bedchamber. He had heard the conversation between the two women. He had planned to look upon the younger woman while she slept again, but the older one had spoiled his pleasure.
A princess, he thought in disbelief. A princess sleeping in his castle.
He wondered whether she'd liked the gift he had left her, and what he should do with her when he took up his claim.
The muffled shou
t of a sentry sent him darting back down the dark steps of the passageway. He could not visit her again for a while. There were too many guards prowling about, and one of them might discover his horse waiting by the loch gate. It had been daring of him to nail that wolf's head on her door.
Besides, he had work to do. There were plans to be laid and fires waiting to be set. In fact, Neacail might light his next fire in honor of the princess.
She could watch the flames from her window.
17
The following afternoon Rowena wore the raspberry silk gown of a hundred scandals. By revealing herself she was hoping to shock the earl into revealing his true nature. Hildegarde was scandalized at this bold gesture and refused to speak to her. The woman stalked off in a huff, muttering a warning that Rowena would come to a bad end like her exiled sister.
Rowena drew a small breath for courage. She would have drawn a deeper one but decency did not allow greater movement. Never had she exposed this much décolletage before. The boned ft, bodice forced her breasts above the shimmering fabric. It plunged down her back, lacing against the bare curve of her spine. She wore no chemise beneath, and felt half-naked. Thunder rumbled outside the castle. The sound was muted in the upper floor where she paced the length of the Turkey carpet. She had sent word to Douglas asking for a tour of the portrait gallery.
She had not seen him since late last night in the bailey. The impression of suppressed power and elemental masculinity had stayed in her mind.
She shivered from cold and apprehension. What would it take to make him drop his masquerade? How far was she willing to go?
She heard his light tread on the stairs, and her heart quickened. Too late now to run back to her room for her mantle. Too late for modesty. Covertly she tried to pull her hair loose from the pearl-headed bodkins that held it in place. The act only served to make her look more like a wanton. A woman with bare bosoms and disarrayed hair.
Douglas slowed on the top step and stared at her for an interminable moment. Lightning speared the sky behind the window. He wore an embroidered black waistcoat and white Holland shirt with snug nankeen breeches. He looked dignified. She did not.
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